


As If

by YumKiwiDelicious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Break Up, Crushes, Drunk Hermione Granger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Oblivious Hermione Granger, Pining Draco, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumKiwiDelicious/pseuds/YumKiwiDelicious
Summary: “I just feel,” Hermione started to sum up, seeming to be reaching the end of her self-lead therapy session, “It has to all be worth it in the end right? I mean we’ve both changed so much-”"Have you?"|| Hermione Granger's been dating Ron Weasley on-and-off for nearly ten years. Draco Malfoy's been in love with her non-stop for just as long.||
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Temporary Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 201





	As If

**Author's Note:**

> 23 more days of quarantine to go!

Draco was going to go insane. In all his years forced to work under Voldemort, all the mental torture he’d gone through with his parents, being forced to plan his own headmaster’s  _ murder _ , he’d never been as close to losing it as he was now. He glared intensely over his desk space to the seat across from him where the bushy-haired focus of his ire sat, chin in her hands in a familiar, thoughtful pose. Granger was too deep in her own mind to notice, but her endless prattling was starting to drive her deskmate to pure ruin.

“But,” she sighed, beginning the same pussyfooted excuse she had been spewing for years, “This is just a rough patch, I’m sure. Every couple has them. It’s just because Ron is so  _ pigheaded  _ that we have them more.” 

Draco grit his teeth.

"Ron loves me and I love him.”

His nails dug into his palm.

"And we've been together so long at this point - since seventh year!" She completely ignored the countless ‘breaks’ the two had taken of varying lengths over all those years. “I can’t just up and give up on us now after all this time.”

Draco had been listening to the nonsense for what felt like nearly the entirety of ‘all this time’ though in reality it had only been three years. Some could argue four, but the first year he and Granger had been assigned to the same department in the Ministry, the same  _ desk  _ no less, they had both staunchly refused to speak to each other. It had taken weeks of chilly silence for the woman to even greet him with a brisk ‘good morning’ and even longer than that for the blonde to respond. Several months passed in further silence before he grew desperate enough to ask for her thoughts on some of his reports and something that could pass for a casual acquaintance of friendship had sprung up between them. 

Eventually they collaborated on projects and if they were going to do that why not just grab lunch together? Sometimes the canteen was a little lackluster, would she prefer he bring her something from the cafe he frequented? That seemed a little tedious, why didn’t she just come with him? Lunch is all well and good, but what about the nights they had to work late? Was dinner a step too far for enemies? Were they enemies anymore?

It had taken nearly the entire first twelve months, but the two eventually had an air clearing talk about all that had happened at Hogwarts. Granger had cried and Draco definitely had not, but he could admit, quietly, alone in his flat, that his chest had grown a little tight. After that things were easier and they were definitely friends. She forced him to social gatherings with the Golden Boy and the Weasels and it was awkward, but she never left his side and he brought Pansy around and she wasn’t as bad as she’d used to be either. They were all friends.

And Draco could say, as a friend, he was sick of hearing about the witch’s horrendous relationship with Ron Weasley. The two fought constantly, polar opposites in every way that seemed to matter and would go weeks without speaking before the redhead would just show up beside their desk with a pastry that Granger didn’t even particularly like and all was forgiven. Nearly a decade of dating and they didn’t even live together. Draco and Ron were friends now too, in the loosest sense of the word -Draco could honestly say he preferred Potter, or even his wife- but he just did not know what his coworker saw in the man.

“I just feel,” Granger started to sum up, seeming to be reaching the end of her self-lead therapy session, “It has to all be worth it in the end right? I mean we’ve both changed so much-” 

"Have you?"

Hermione paused. Draco could tell she was staring at him, but he kept his eyes glued to the paperwork in front of him, quill close to snapping in his grip. He wanted to apparate from the room which seemed to have grown suspiciously quiet following his irritated question. They shared a desk, not an office, and there were plenty of other witches and wizards around which may have been the only thing keeping Draco from causing an entire scene. He was so sick of hearing this nonsense.

"Excuse me?"

“Have either of you really changed?” If Draco had been angry with himself for saying anything to begin with, he was absolutely livid with himself when he continued. “Because it seems like you’re _both_ pigheaded and that this whole bloody relationship is just you two going back and forth about the same shit again and again. He doesn’t take your job seriously, you don’t care about his interests, but that’s okay because ‘this time it’s different’ when it never is!”

“How dare-?!”

“Trust me, in three months you’ll be sitting there, bitching to me all over again.” He finally yanked his gaze up to her. There was now a smear of ink ruining all the hard work he had done and nothing to distract him from the conversation. He brought the full intensity of his glare to her, pinning her to her seat. Her mouth was hanging open. “I’m not your therapist, Granger!”

Her eyes were hurt. "I never—"

"If you want to stay with the weasel, fine, I don't care. That's your decision, but I don't want to hear about it anymore. I'm done."

He pushed away from the desk with a clatter that seemed to start up the rest of the noise in the room. If their coworkers had been listening, they did a valiant job of pretending to be deep in work as Draco stormed out, leaving Hermione alone and speechless at her desk. let the door slam behind him as he left, fleeing as quickly as he could from those wide, wounded eyes.

* * *

Hermione let out a breath, hoping it would somehow calm the way her stomach was rolling over. Whether with shame or rage she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure yet. She could feel her face was flushed and she glanced covertly about to see her coworkers were openly avoiding her eyes. She shuffled her chair closer to her desk, trying to make herself small. 

Perhaps that had been something she needed to hear a while ago, but where did Draco get off saying those things about her? About Ron?

The young witch stifled a sniffle as her mind turned over the conversation and she tried to view the whole thing logically, not emotionally. It was obvious Draco had wanted to say those things for a while; months, maybe years. Which made sense since that’s how long she had been unloading on him about all her romantic troubles. She couldn’t go to Harry, he was Ron’s best friend and the person who had to field all his sides of an argument. And Ginny was worse off since she was Ron’s sister and, unfortunately, had a very similar temperament to her older brother in most issues. It must have been a Weasley thing.

Hermione had not even realized how desperate she was to have someone to talk to until Draco had come into her life again. Despite their own tumultuous history, he had no personal or familial ties to Ron, obviously, and so was an objective third party to her complaints. It didn’t hurt that Draco was also extremely sharp and rational, which had been no small surprise when she’d first realized it, and so could tell her when she, in fact, was creating the problem she was grouching about. And when she wasn’t wrong, he was an honest and somewhat hilarious listener who would lob harmless insults about Ron and his behavior back and forth with her until she felt better.

With how much the blonde had had to carry the emotional burden of her relationship the last few years, Hermione couldn’t honestly say she was surprised he had snapped. Couldn’t honestly say that she didn’t deserve it. She rarely inquired about him, or gave him an opportunity to vent his own problems and Hermione  _ knew  _ he had problems. Draco had been so good to her, shockingly good, and she…

She had pushed him away. 

This was her fault.

"Hermione?"

Hermione blinked up. Two crystalline tears had tracked down her face and she smacked them away self-consciously. It wasn’t unusual for Ron to come to her job around lunch time to treat her, but so soon after a fight it was a bit awkward. She could tell by the look in his amber eyes that he thought she was crying about him and the fact that she  _ wasn’t  _ forced her into action faster than any fight ever could. 

"Ron," she sniffled and sat up straighter before meeting his eyes, "We need to talk."

The cafeteria was their usual lunch spot, she only dared to leave the office during the day with Draco because he knew and respected the time crunch they were on to return, but today it just would not do. She could tell Ron was shocked and worried when she began to put her coat on. She noticed Draco had left his thrown over the back of his chair as she grabbed her boyfriend’s arm and started guiding them out of the building.

They stayed silent all the way through the maze of desks and hallways and elevators. The main entrance of the Ministry had it’s usual amount of people bustling about, all busy with their own lives, but Hermione wanted them to be as alone as they could be without going back to one of their flats. She couldn’t bear the thought of marring her or Ron’s personal space with what she was about to do. They walked side by side out on the street and it would have to be good enough.

Ron nudged her shoulder.

"We're breaking up, aren't we?" It wasn't really a question, but Hermione still couldn’t meet his eyes to answer. The cold air stung her face. "For real, this time?" He laughed a little, but it didn't sound happy.

"…We don't make each other happy," she explained quietly. Ron had to lean in to hear her, the warmth of his body enveloping her form. "I'm not what you want-"

"Hermione-"

“And you’re not what I want.”

She finally looked at him and was unlucky enough to see the air rush out of him. It was harsh, but she couldn’t play this as if she was doing some great martyr-esque favor by setting him free. She was being set free too and he needed to know that. They hadn't been a real couple in months. Years, even. Hermione couldn't remember the last time they had even had sex, or really been intimate at all. Whatever they had had when this had first begun, in the midst of a war when every moment together could have been their last, they kept chasing it, but it was far beyond their grasp now. There were no more wars to fight to fan the small flame between them into a roaring fire. All was well.

Ron heaved an agonized huff, his breath wet and sticking in the cold air. He straightened up and away from her. He was crying and Hermione turned away to block out the image as much as to give him privacy.

"It’s just so  _ stupid. _ " He pushed some of his fiery hair back. "We're so good as friends—I always think—"

"I know." Hermione has always thought the same thing, every time they’d broken up in the past. They’d spend some time apart, but when they finally started talking again, they got along so  _ well _ . It was always so easy to think they could give it another try, but each try seemed to end the same as the last. Since they were teenagers they could never keep the peace for longer than a few months. 

"It is stupid,” she agreed at length, hot tears pooling in her eyes as her lips began to tremble. “ _ I’m  _ stupid."

“Hey now, no.” He pulled her to a stop, folding her into his chest as she started to cry in earnest. Small, sniveling cries. He pet her hair and held her close. “You are not stupid. In fact I seem to remember quite a few arguments where your extreme intelligence took me for quite a go.”

Hermione didn’t laugh, but she appreciated his attempt at humor. If nothing else, Ron had always done his utmost to keep her happy and laughing. Even after the war while his family was still healing emotionally and he was still healing physically, he always had a joke ready for her even when she made it exceptionally clear she didn’t find him funny. He told everyone that that was how he’d won her over in the first place; that if he couldn’t make her laugh, he was good for nothing. It wasn’t true. Hermione sucked in a deep breath through shaky lips, one hand pressed over her eyes to try and staunch the flow of tears. The other gripped the front of Ron’s coat. 

“I love you,” she whimpered honestly, needing him to know. 

"I love you too.” He held her away from him, at arm's length where she belonged, and brushed her hair away from her wet face. “As a friend.” 

Hermione sobbed around a laugh, but nodded. 

“A best friend.”

"A damned good best friend."

She laughed again, giving Ron’s arm a small nudge. Hermione knew slightly better than to use that moment to explain to him that describing something that was already labeled ‘best’ as good didn’t make any sense. She’d given him enough lectures to last a lifetime. The young man smiled down at her, but after a moment his smile seemed to flicker away and there was a pause. They’d stopped in the middle of a busy sidewalk and strangers passed on every side. Snowflakes had started to fall into their hair. 

"I'm…going to need some time, I think," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Hermione breathed out. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

It wasn't surprising that Draco came back to an empty desk. Granger, for all the war hero she was labeled, hated confrontation and would often remove herself from a situation entirely, if she was able, before it turned into an all out screaming match. Malfoy truly believed that’s how she’d managed to stay with the weasel as long as she did; avoiding him. Still, usually in those moments when she was avoiding Ron nowadays she would be off somewhere talking Draco’s ear off about some ridiculous thing or another. Now that Draco was the one she was avoiding, he really had no clue where she could be.

He swallowed, gently laying his wand down among his paperwork. Everyone else in the office had gone back to their own business in sincerity now that the show was over. Draco closed his eyes. His gut was still a swirling mix of guilt, anger, and a fair bit of pain. He knew he had no right to the anger and pain, not really, but he felt it nonetheless. It wasn't as if he had any claim over Granger; the silly little bint could do what she wanted. She wasn’t his to control.

The blonde buckled forwards, letting out a harsh exhale in the place of a sob which was covered by the natural clamor of a workplace. These feelings—he  _ hated _ them. They had been tormenting him since sixth year when he had halted in his rounding of a corner as he overheard the Golden Trio speaking heatedly. That meddlesome Potter had actually figured out that Draco had joined the Death Eaters and was trying to convince the others, but Granger was strident in her disagreement. Draco had crouched down and listened as the brilliant witch had defended him, however half-heartedly, and claimed he was merely a boy and not involved with Voldemort. She hadn’t been afraid to say His name and even after all the years of torture, had still seen some good in Draco. Hadn’t believed he would turn completely evil.

She’d been wrong of course, but Draco had been hooked since that day. He had clung mentally to the only person in his life that believed in him. He’d watched wherever she went, careful not to do anything devious in her presence; he couldn’t risk losing her faith. When everything had come crashing down, when Dumbledore had died, he’d wanted nothing more than to run to his classmate and cry into her robes to forgive him and protect him, but it’d been too late. She’d known the truth and she hadn’t returned the following year. For months he’d been positive she was dead somewhere out there, dragged to her death by the idiot Chosen One.

Seeing her at Malfoy Manor during Easter holidays that year had been the best and worst moment of Draco’s life. She’d been dirty and wounded and still clinging to the two biggest thorns in his side he’d ever met. And by that point it was painfully obvious Weasley was in love with her. Draco had denied knowing Potter, but couldn’t keep the recognition of her off his face. Couldn’t staunch the tears as her screams had stretched across the entire grounds as Bellatrix had...

Draco let out another breath, resting his forehead in his hands. He shouldn't have lashed out like that. Granger had suffered enough because of him and he had no right to cause her more suffering, even if only with his words. He’d worked tirelessly, desperately, lovingly, for months and years to win her genuine friendship. Asking her for help on simple reports to stroke her ego. Offering to bring her lunch until eventually she just suggested going with him. Staying late whenever she did so that she had to talk with him if only to pass the time. Draco had brought her trust on himself, had wanted it more than he wanted to breathe, and that had gotten mad when she kept confiding with him. Stupid. He didn't think Hermione and Ron were meant to be, but he wasn't exactly unbiased.

And he had never wanted to be the reason for Hermione's unhappiness.

Something was placed gently on his desk near his elbow and he looked at it from the corner of his eye. There, sitting nicely in a paper doily, was his favorite pastry from the bakery across the street. The mini cinnamon apple tart gave off a heavenly aroma which meant it was still warm, and a dainty hand set a paper cup of what Draco was sure was lukewarm green tea down beside it.

"Draco," Granger's voice was quiet. She sounded tired, "I wanted to apologize."

The Malfoy fought the urge to snap his gaze up to her. She had nothing to apologize for.

"You were right," Hermione continued and Draco knew part of her probably withered and died having to say that. Still, he hated the way a tiny sniff followed the statement. “I’m sorry for making you listen to all my silly little problems at work. I won’t bother you anymore.” Her breath was catching and Draco felt a suspicious lump growing in his own throat as he still staunchly refused to face her. “I’m sorry.” 

She hurried out of the office.

* * *

Hermione sighed tiredly and set down her quill. It had been nearly three weeks since she had broken up with Ron, and things still felt awkward with Draco. Part of the witch wondered if maybe he was punishing her for all the years of nonsense and while that sounded like something Draco would do, she was starting to get a little peeved with him. Obviously Ron was gone and with him Harry and Ginny had circled the wagons to comfort him, if only temporarily. Draco was the only person Hermione could talk to and he wouldn’t even look at her. She was tired and work was tedious and she missed having someone to talk to. It felt as if she had lost all her friends in one night.

Hermione imagined these were exactly the type of self-pitying feelings Draco didn’t want to be weighed down with anymore and she couldn’t blame him. She’d always hated it when Ron would complain egregiously about issues at the shop, or between him and Harry. Listening to someone complain wasn’t fun so she didn’t know why she’d expected Draco to do it endlessly while getting nothing in return out of her. 

Their interactions weren’t strained now persay, they still had to work together, but the Malfoy didn’t bring anything extra to their conversations, never had really, and Hermione was making the sincere effort to restrain herself. Once discussion of work and current events and maybe family was done, a silence would fall over their shared desk space for the rest of the day. With anyone else this would be expected, but Hermione hadn't quite realized how much she filled the silence these last few years until she started not letting herself talk.

For the thousandth time that day, she glanced up at her seatmate. Usually, she’d just launch into a discussion about one thing or another without even really thinking about it, but now she looked away and picked her quill back up. Draco didn’t want to talk so she wouldn’t talk. She had to respect his boundaries. She had work to do anyway that maybe he could help her with later if she stayed quiet enough. Maybe he would offer to bring her something from the cafe and she could just invite herself to go along like she’d been doing for years. 

Or maybe she was just a bad friend.

* * *

For the thousandth time, Draco looked away just as Granger lifted her head. She wasn’t sneaky at all, her whole gigantic mane of hair moved when she looked in his direction. He had the good sense to only swivel his eyes towards her, though the constant strain of staring intensely through his peripherals was starting to make a headache bloom behind his eyes. The blonde kept expecting the witch to talk at any moment; to comment idly about something she’d witnessed on the way into the office, or to inquire after his mother’s health, but it was just…silent.

These past few weeks had been odd. His interactions with Hermione had been almost superficial. There were moments, brief ones, where it would almost feel like they were back to normal, and then Hermione's mouth would snap shut and her back would stiffen and she would look away from Draco as if suddenly struck with an Imperio that guided her away from him and then it would just be silent again.

Draco had forgotten how much he hated silence.

He kept wanting to talk to Hermione; to officially accept her apology and make one of his own, but every time he opened his mouth a confession nearly came tumbling out and he would be forced to retreat. He couldn't tell Granger how he felt. What would be the point? The feelings would never be returned, and their relationship would become even more damaged than it already was if that were at all possible. No, he couldn't confess. He just had to wait and bide his time like he’d done for years until he had something else he could tell her. Anything would do.

When their lunch hour came, Granger got up silently and floated from the room like a ghost. They hadn’t eaten together in weeks which meant Draco was half sick of the canteen food. With a sigh, he snapped the folder he’d been working in shut, sliding it off his desk into his hand in the same motion. He stomped through the maze of desks and hallways and elevators until he reached what the Ministry passed off as a lunch room. Everything there was free and prepared by house elves, some of whom were keeping Hermione company there across the room. 

Her eyes were red and puffy as she nodded at whatever the tiny creatures were saying to her. 

Draco sighed and grabbed a plate blindly before stomping over there as well. At the site of someone other than the kindly witch they were used to, the house elves apparated away and Hermione looked up in shock. The young man said nothing as he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. He tucked into his lunch, still not saying a word and pointedly avoiding his tablemate’s eye. Still, he could see Hermione’s smile widen in his peripherals and knew she understood.

* * *

Hermione’s brow puckered in concern two months later as an ominous red envelope was tossed onto her desk by the mail witch. The sides were already sizzling and she worked quickly to place a silencing charm all around her desk. Draco was within it’s barrier because he was technically at her desk, but still she shot him an extremely apologetic look as she scrambled to rip open the howler before it could explode. 

“HERMIONE, MEET ME AT THE THREE BROOMSTICKS RIGHT AWAY, IT’S AN EMERGENCY!”

Ron’s voice rang in both of their ears as the letter ripped itself to shreds, no more than confetti as it scattered all over Draco and Hermione’s workspace. Her eyes were wide in shock and embarrassment as she looked over to the blonde. He was brushing remnants of red envelope off his lap and had his face turned down at an angle where Hermione could not read his facial expression. She lowered the silencing charm.

"Draco...I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Alright.” His voice was quiet and she still couldn’t see his face properly. It didn’t sound upset. He didn’t sound like anything. "I'll see you."

* * *

"Ronald!"

"Hermione!" 

Ron looked extremely relieved to see her and Hermione watched as he began and quickly aborted a motion that would have brought them into a hug before he slumped back into his seat. The redhead looked as frantic as he’d sounded in his message. The Three Broomsticks wasn’t crowded at this time of day. It was a weekday and well past the lunch hour so there were several tables separating them from the nearest patron. Ron seemed grateful for that as he motioned her quickly to sit. 

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know who else to talk to; I  _ know  _ this isn’t fair to you-”

"Are you alright?" 

“I think…” he trailed off, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “I think Pansy has feelings for me."

Hermione blinked.

"What?"

"I overheard her—she was talking to someone—I don't know—but I think she—I think she—"

Hermione's mind reeled thinking about Draco’s ex-girlfriend. The two had managed to patch up whatever remnants of friendship they had after the war and as Hermione had gotten to know the blonde, she’d gotten to know Pansy Parkinson as well. The young woman wasn’t the same narcissistic terror she’d been in school, much like her former paramore. She and Hermione had never discussed their bully-victim relationship back in school. Pansy had merely nudged her shoulder briefly at the dinner table one night.

“Sorry if I was a bit of a cunt before,” she’d said. 

And that was that.

Pansy still had a cool and sometimes biting attitude, but she mainly used it for business ventures these days, not to bully others. Within their odd friend group she was often the one throwing plans together and setting a nearly impossibly high standard for how they should all dress on their rare nights out. She’d gown into her rather severe looks over the years, Hermione expected with some magical help.

“Umm,” the witch stammered, just then coming back to her senses to find Ron still watching her desperately. She’d understood the need for a howler now, but she could simply not host this conversation under these conditions. “Uh...What time is it?

"Nearly six."

"Thank goodness,” Hermione gasped, vacating her seat. She hadn’t even removed her coat or scarf yet and so merely gestured over her shoulder in a rather urgent gesture for Ron to follow. “We’re going to the Leaky Cauldron.”

* * *

"But I—I don't  _ know _ ! Obviously she's brilliant," Ron scowled into his drink, "When she's not being a  _ bitch _ —"

Hermione snorted out a laugh, narrowly avoiding getting firewhiskey up her nose.

"Are you talking about Pansy, or Draco?"

"Hah!" Ron threw his head back laughing. "That's...that's too true..."

"He's been so weird recently, but I have been too I guess," Hermione mumbled, taking another sip. They’d already been drinking for quite a few hours and while the former Head Girl didn't usually indulge so heavily, she’d had a rough few months and felt she deserved it. She rested her cheek on her fist. "I miss him."

"Hey," Ron leaned over the table to point at her. He’d stripped off his outer layers early on into the evening and yet his whole face was still red and his hair stuck to his sweat covered forehead. "Don't get all mopey drunk on me, I don't need mopey drunk Hermione right now. And what do you mean you miss him? You're around him all the fucking time—"

"Nooo," Hermione groaned, waving her drink, pausing as some of it splashed onto her hand. "No,  _ no _ , Ronald! I mean… It’s just...I've been relying on him for like—for _ everything _ !"

She waved the drink again and more firewhiskey splashed out.

"Put your drink down." Ron made a motion that looked more like he was about to slap the stein out of the young woman’s hand. Hermione dodged it by putting it down herself with a rather rough clatter. She was getting mopey.

"He's like...he's so great, y'know? And I've been taking advantage of it. 'm a bad friend, Ron," she finished in a mumble, staring down into her glass.

"You're not a bad friend!" He was practically shouting.

"I am!" She glared at him, before blinking and shaking her head. She wished Harry was there to tell them both to calm down, but he was at home with Ginny because they were married and had babies and here she was. With her ex. "I'm doing it right now! I’m making this about myself when I came here to-!"

"No, no it helps, it helps," Ron slurred, waving her off, eyes closed. Likely to stop his world from spinning. "I don't mind and I bet the ferret doesn't mind. He likes you."

"And I like him." Hermione pouted at her drink. "I don’t wanna lose him."

"That's how I feel," Ron plopped his empty glass onto the table, "About Pansy."

Hermione glanced up at him with an amused snort. She had been surprised, of course, when Pansy and Ron seemed to get on better than anyone could have predicted. They were constantly going back and forth with each other, trading playful jabs at each other's looks and life and never seeming to take it too far like Ron and Hermione  _ always  _ did. Draco had even mentioned it in passing at one point; how weird it felt to watch a woman he could never make it work with play so nicely with another man. Hermione and Ron had been fighting at that point and she’d agreed rather cynically that they’d seemed ‘perfect for each other’.

“You like her don’t you?" Hermione squinted at him.

"Yeah," Ron admitted as if only just realizing it himself. “She’s...she’s-”

“Your best friend,” she provided, looking back to the bottom of her glass for each word she wanted to say. She didn’t resent Ron for this development; your partner  _ should  _ be your best friend. Ginny was Harry’s. Ron had been hers. “The person you get along with best and are closer to than anyone-”

“That’s all well and good,” the youngest Weasley male interrupted, eyes bleary in the dim light of the Leaky Cauldron. “But if that’s all it takes then you and Malfoy should get together.”

Hermione reeled back in her chair, firewhiskey splashing down her front as she fumbled her drink. "That's—that's not the same, Ronald!"

"Aren't you guys best friends?" Ron mocked, staring her down. "Isn't he the person that you're  _ closest _ to—"

“Draco would  _ never  _ like me like that—"

"Ah HA!" Ron smacked the table, sensing victory in his grasp as the landlady and barkeep started making her way over. He was shouting in earnest now. "So it's a question of  _ him liking you! _ "

"No!" Hermione's eyes widened. "And for Merlin’s  _ sake _ , lower your voice-!"

“Excuse me.” The landlady had reached their table. “I need you lot to settle down, or you’ll have to leave.”

“Sorry, Abbott,” Ron sighed as a way of greeting, already reaching across the back of his chair to grab his coat. Hermione’s head was back in her hands, cheeks squished up beneath her palms as she glared at her friend.

“Her name’s not Abbott anymore, you prat,” she grumbled, “It’s Longbottom.”

“Good to see you again, Hermione,” Hannah greeted more kindly now, dazzling the other witch with a friendly smile.

They caught up with their old schoolmate for a bit. She was good, keeping the inn was interesting. Neville wasn’t in, work as an Auror kept him busy, but he was hoping to retire soon. Herbology still intrigued him greatly and wouldn’t it be so lucky if he got a job at Hogwarts to teach in that field? Hannah herself had recently begun training to become a healer. Maybe she too could wind up back at their old school someday. 

Finally, they were finally back out onto the street, pulling scarves and coats on with sluggish movements. Ron had agreed to let Hermione be in charge of making sure he got home safely. Even three sheets to the wind, she was far better at apparating than him even after all these years. He’d come to her flat and she’d call him a muggle taxi. The red head seemed excited for the chance to ride in an automobile and so didn’t complain too much as he slung his arms around his childhood friend.

"If Draco asked you out, what would you say?"

Hermione glared at him, half considering pushing him away and leaving him there to figure a way home by himself.

"If Pansy asked you out, what would  _ you _ say?"

_ ‘Crack!’ _

* * *

_ ‘Crack!’ _

Draco jumped as the sound went echoing through the flat. He yanked his wand from beneath his pillow. Who the bloody hell-?! 

“Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Don’t you dare throw up on this floor, Ronald Weasley!”

Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever been as livid as he was at that moment. He could hear the two idiots arguing all the way from his bedroom. He went storming down the hallway, wand in hand, prepared to Cruciatus them both into next week when Granger rounded the corner and ran straight into his bare chest. The witch reeled back with a startled scream and he barely caught her before she fell to the floor.

Hermione stared up at his glaring face as if she’d seen a ghost and Draco wanted to shake her then. To ask her where did she get off leaving work and never coming back; leaving him to worry only to show up at some indecent hour, completely uninvited with her  _ boyfriend  _ in tow. Her scream had startled Weasley back in the living room and Draco’s scowl only intensified as he heard something probably very expensive be knocked to the ground and shatter followed by the ponce’s mumbled ‘Oops’.

“Draco?” Hermione questioned at last, brow drawn down in sincere confusion. “What are you doing in my flat?”

“You’re in my flat, you lunatic,” he hissed, pulling her up straight so he could finally release her. She hadn’t even drawn her wand when he startled her and she smelled like a smokey pub. "…Are you drunk!?"

“Oh  _ God _ !” she groaned then, stumbling away, back into the living room to sit on the arm of the couch. The blonde flicked the lamps on with a swish of his wand. Light flooded the flat and Hermione and Ron both groaned in complaint, Ron completely ignoring the shards of porcelain lain at his feet. “Oh God, I tried to apparate us home and...and I must’ve been thinking about you.”

“You tried to apparate while shitfaced?!” Draco clung to the rage desperately in an attempt to fight off the pain. The excruciating, burning pain at the knowledge that Hermione was drunk and had been trying to get the weasel back to her flat for Merlin only knew what. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

"Hey, now, don’t be rough with her, mate,” Ron slurred, stepping forward only to have statue shards crunch beneath his shoe. This distracted him as Draco returned to glaring at his coworker who was watching her boyfriend with an irate but still concerned expression.

“Leave it, Ronald,” she sighed, finally wiggling her wand out of her coat pocket, “I’ll fix it.”

“You are  _ not  _ waving that around in here!”

Draco plucked the bit of wood from her grasp and boggled that Granger was so off her game that she let him. He knew in fit form Hermione could likely take him on wandless, but that type of magic took extreme focus and control which was severely lacking in his flat at that moment. He pocketed her wand along with his own in his pajama trousers and then turned to Weasley. The imbecile was crouched over now, gingerly picking up porcelain pieces in his thick fingers. As if feeling a pair of cold grey eyes on him, he picked his head up and smirked at Draco dopily.

“I need a ride.”

“Call yourself a muggle taxi.”

“No, no,” Hermione insisted, reaching out to grasp the former Slytherin’s bare arm. He yanked it from her prodding fingers. “No, no,  _ Pansy  _ has to come pick him up.”

"Pansy?!" Ron's eyes bulged. "No, no, no, Hermione...I can't do that...I can't face her,I—"

"You can and you will." Hermione reached as if to pull her wand out again before remembering it had been confiscated. She turned to Draco with a sleepy look, clearly being dragged down by whatever she had consumed. “Can I have my wand?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco hissed, well beyond his boiling point as the witch and her partner began to complain rather loudly at him. “Enough! Both of you, cut it out!” They turned to look at him. He glared back, his eyes moving to focus on Hermione. "For the record,  _ this _ ," he gestured at the two of them, "Was  _ exactly _ what I was talking about."

He spun on his heel.

It felt like a punch in the gut. Hermione collapsed back fully onto the couch, landing on her back with a force that knocked a sob loose from her chest. She’d done it again. She’d made Draco hate her again. 

"Fuck, Hermione, I'm sorry." Ron looked distraught. "I'll talk to him—"

"No.” The witch shook her head, dislodging tears from beneath her lashes. "No, don't bother. We need to get you home."

Draco had a floo network, granted it was rarely used and heavily guarded. Hermione had been in and out of it several times in the last few years and had the sneaking suspicion she may be the only one who ever came to visit. She hugged Ron several more times and assured him he need not worry about her several more than that. She told him she’d throw the powder for him and waited until he was seated inside the fireplace to cast him an endeared but devious smile.

“Number seven Acanthia Way.”

“Wait, NO-!”

Ron disappeared in a burst of green flames, well on his way to Pansy Parkinson’s house and Hermione allowed herself a small, self-satisfied chuckle as she replaced the floo powder pot to the top of Draco’s fireplace. She was alone now and the flat was quiet. Wherever Draco had stormed off to, he wasn’t making any noise. The thought of returning to her own tiny, empty home left Hermione feeling like she’d rather be anywhere else. She couldn’t go to Ron’s, Harry and his family were well asleep by now, and Draco wasn’t talking to her. 

She had nowhere to go so...she sat down on the couch.

* * *

Draco waited until he heard the rush of the floo activating before he decided it was safe to go back out. He needed further distraction and that bust Weasley had smashed to bits wasn’t going to pick itself up until he went and waved his wand over there. He vacated his room and headed back down the hallway, grumbling annoyedly that his two unexpected guests had left the lights on, until he reached the front of his home and froze.

Hermione was on the couch. Crying. However, quietly.

"What are you still doing here?"

"…Did you want me to leave?" Granger’s voice was barely above a whisper and it sounded broken. Her bushy head slowly turned until Draco could see her red-rimmed eyes and a wave of guilt hit him like a bludger. 

“N-No...I just thought-”

"I don't really have anywhere else to go." The witch let out a harsh breath, ducking her head away from Draco to wipe at her cheek. His heart clenched and he took a tiny step closer. Without his say, his hand had started reaching out to her. “I don’t want to be alone, but...everyone is already with someone and...I guess I could go to Luna’s-"

“Don’t be  _ stupid _ , Granger-" She choked on a sob and Draco pulled his hand back, barely resisting the urge to move it closer instead. “I didn’t mean that. I just...I thought you were with Ron."

Hermione turned and squinted up at him, eyebrows furrowed before gently shaking her head and turning away again. Something twisted in Draco's stomach. He laughed a little, a high, distorted sound and cut himself off when his guest caught him in her gaze again. 

“We’re not back together,” she mumbled, not seeming sad about the fact, just informative, “He thinks Pansy has feelings for him, b-but I know you don’t want to hear about this anymore.” Draco was taken aback by so much of what she’d said that he couldn’t interject before she continued. “I’ve been trying to be careful and give you your space, but...I’m drunk and I didn’t mean to wind up hear-”

She broke down into sobs and couldn’t go on and Draco finally closed the last of the distance between them to rest a hand on her back. He’d never seen her like this. Drunk, sure, but a weepy drunk wasn’t something he thought he could ever label Hermione Granger. She was mopping sloppily at her face and he grimaced as he tried to smooth her mess of hair back from her sticky cheeks. He had failed her. Again. The guilt was killing him.

“Hey,” he soothed, tone completely off since he’d never tried to soothe anyone before. “Hey now, I didn’t mean you couldn't  _ talk  _ to me." He scanned his old nemesis’ puffy eyes. "It was just the fighting with Ron. That's all it was."

The young woman’s sobs quieted into snuffled hiccups and she tilted her head at him in confusion. Her eyes held doubt. The blonde bowed his head, swallowing. The way Hermione had been acting -the sudden silences, the strange distance between them- it was his fault. 

"I'm sorry.” She blinked at him. “I’m sorry, Hermione," he breathed out again, pain fueling his voice, "Please—"

A sharp inhale was Draco's only warning before he found himself with an armful of Hermione Granger, squeezing him so hard that it very nearly hurt. He returned the embrace as much as he was able but circulation was quickly being cut off from his extremities. 

"M'sorry." He felt Hermione's words, pressed against the side of his neck like a kiss. Her frigid fingers gripped at his bare back desperately. They’d never touched like this; never hugged. "I've been a shit friend-" 

"You what!?" Draco pulled her off him, though it killed him to do so, and fixed her with a look, feeling rage burst through him. He was more surprised with her off course remark than with the fact she had just cursed. "Did Ron tell you that?"

“What?”

"Did Ron tell you you were a bad friend?" Draco would  _ kill _ him—as if Hermione was anything but  _ brilliant _ !

Hermione shook her head, looking confused. "No, he didn't." 

Draco eased off then, releasing her shoulders from his death grip only for her to sway on the spot. He moved a hand to her lower back to steady her. Hermione was staring at him very seriously for a short beat until...

"Draco, why are you friends with me?"

Draco blinked. He hadn’t expected to be asked such a thing ever and so really had no excuse that made sense. He couldn’t very well tell her that their painstakingly slow venture into friendship had been a well laid plan he’d agonized over since the first day he’d seen her enter the office. He had spent too long playing cool and aloof to let that truth be known now. But she was staring at him with a scalding intensity and he had to say something.

"I don't think you gave me much of a choice," he joked, trying to drive the conversation into light-hearted territory, but failing miserably. The witch’s eyes went wide and more tears than what seemed physically possible started slipping down her cheeks rapid fire.

"That," Hermione whimpered quietly, "Exactly that."

Draco stared.

"Tha—what?"

"I never gave you a choice," she clarified, scooting herself back and away from him on the couch cushion. The space beside him grew immediately cold. “I never listen to people! Not the way I should anyhow. All I do is...is  _ talk  _ and lecture and be a fussy little know-it-all. I never do anything nice for you just because you  _ deserve  _ to have nice things done for you. I never ask about your day, or your night, or your  _ mother _ . I can't even  _ remember _ the last time you I—"

"Hermione—"

"—without launching into my own problems. Not even just the ones with Ron, but  _ all of them! _ It’s everything, Draco! Do you even  _ like _ me or do I just force you—"

" _ Hermione _ —"

"—Do I just _ make  _ you tolerate me? You get nothing out of this and I've been—"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Draco hissed, grabbing Hermione by the coat so she couldn't pull away as the blonde clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Mmph!"

"Just...shut up." Draco’s heart thundered through his body almost louder than Hermione's voice which still swirled around him as if it was a sandstorm. He’d never put hands on her like this, never held her so tight to him. She was staring at him just as shocked as he was and he lost his train of thought for a split moment trapped within her eyes.

"I don't know if it's the alcohol, or Ron, or  _ what _ , but this is  _ bullocks _ , Hermione!" He didn't mean for his voice to raise, but the words were coming out of his mouth and he couldn't seem to stem the flow. His hand slipped off of Hermione's mouth to clutch at her scarf , instead. "You think I don't get anything out of this, you twit?"

It was ludicrous. 

It was insulting. 

As if Hermione wasn't the reason he looked forward to going to work each and every day. As if Hermione hadn't single-handedly brought color into Draco's dull, pathetic existence after the war. As if Hermione wasn't the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him in his lavishly dull and exceedingly empty life.

"You think I get nothing?" he demanded. His hands clutched uselessly at Hermione's body. He sounded hysterical. "I get  _ you _ ." He exhaled again, shaking his head as his eyes began to burn. He stared down at the ground, trying to get a hold of himself; trying to catch his thoughts before they spilled out of his mouth in a broken, frail whisper. "And you're...you’re  _ everything _ ."

It was the soft touch of Hermione's hand on his chin that stopped his voice in its tracks. He was shaking. Thin fingers gently lifted his face until Draco had no choice but to meet Hermione's eyes, but he only managed a glimpse of them before—

Draco's mind screeched to a halt, Hermione's lips pressed against his, and he tore himself away, eyes wide. 

"You're drunk," he ground out, panting though he’d exerted no extreme force resisting the kiss. At least not physically.

"It's not the alcohol." Hermione's eyes scanned his. He could see her worry clear as day, her fear. Draco sucked in a breath as Hermione bowed her head, folding her hands into her lap and looking down at her feet as if she'd been rejected. 

"Hermione—"

"I’m sorry." It was that broken voice again, the one that shattered Draco's heart so easily.

"Hermione,  _ no. _ " He moved closer to the bushy haired woman. His hands nearly trembled with the desire to touch her, but he  _ couldn't.  _ "Don't go thinking insane things-"

Hermione's head jerked up. Her eyes were so bright and her lips were so close and as Draco's fingers brushed against the fabric of her shirt his restraint crumbled. The Gryffindor’s first kiss had been soft, hesitant. As if it was barely there. And Draco's mind had been too far gone to appreciate it properly, but this time was perfection. This kiss was eternity. Hermione's lips moved against his and it was as if they were at the edge of the galaxy, the stars themselves dancing along Draco's lips, shooting sparks through him with each movement. Hermione's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, and it was all Draco wanted to be.

Closer.

The blonde knew he could drown in this. Could suffocate with happiness. Hermione was heaven and Draco felt as if he would ecstatically die if it meant he could be here forever. When they pulled apart there was nothing but trembling air between them, they were pressed so close. Draco felt as if something had shaken his very core. As if Hermione had reached in and taken it as her own to study and coo over like oh so much distant starlight. 

"Oh." Her voice was quiet, her eyes bright, some mix between happiness and fear still swirling within them. Draco let out a shuddering, trembling breath. He felt as if he would surely wake at any moment and this would be a dream.

"You're drunk," he repeated.

"It's not the alcohol," Hermione responded in kind, but her voice was far away, and her brow was furrowed. She looked as if a haze were being lifted from her eyes. She was sobering up, but only just. She’d left the pub over an hour ago at this point.

Draco swallowed.

"I don't believe you," he whispered. How could he? It was lunacy to imagine, to  _ dream _ , Hermione Granger was within his grasp. After everything, all these years, there were some things that were too good to be true and Draco Malfoy  _ knew  _ this was one of them.

The silence dragged on as the object of his desperation stared at him. Eyes searching for something Draco himself wasn’t sure was really there. But he let her look and didn’t speak again. Didn’t risk the sound of his whining voice shattering the black mirror that was the universe and letting this moment float out into nothingness.

"Alright." Hermione's hand reached down, intertwining their fingers. "Come along then."

Draco liked to think he could have disobeyed. He liked to think that he would have been able to keep his own free will, even with the way Hermione's touch sent sparks shooting up his arm, winding around his heart and mind as she guided them down the dark hallway. She knew the way, she’d been there enough times and there was only one door down this way. Still Draco was shocked when she pushed his bedroom door open and pulled them both in.

"Wait—"

She shut the door behind them.

" _ Wait _ —!"

"We're just going to sleep." Hermione's mouth spread into an honest yet still coy smile. Draco had never quite seen that mix of mischievousness and affection on her face and he wasn't sure his heart would ever recover from the sight of it. “And in the morning I swear I’ll kiss you again and then you'll have no excuse not to believe me." 

His old schoolmate sat down on the bed, but her hand didn't leave Draco's. It only pulled him closer to sit down beside her, their shoulders brushing. She’d been in this room before, to poke at his closet and scoff at how expensive all his robes were, but she’d never touched the bed before and Draco thought he may actually die sharing the space with her. He’d dreamed about this.

The Malfoy drew in a shuddering breath.

"The alcohol—"

"I've been drunk before, Draco," Hermione looked almost amused. Probably because she knew he knew this. They’d been drunk together at points over the last few years. "It’s not like it changes who I am." Draco swallowed and was sure his heart must have been swelling up, with the tightness he could feel in his chest. "I feel way more sober now, anyway." Hermione pulled her feet up, bending her knees together. She was still in the sensible skirt she’d worn to work that day. 

"So you...like me then?" she asked quietly, that soft grin coming back in full force.

Draco resisted the urge to close his eyes against the whirlwind of memories and emotions that erupted in his head. Hermione said  _ 'like' _ and it made it sound so small; so simple and juvenile. As if he hadn't been all but consumed and gotten himself killed a dozen times over. 

"...Yes." It sounded like more of a breath than a word, but Hermione's hand squeezed his.

"Did you know? Before today?"

So innocent, so ignorant, as Hermione always tended to be despite her sweeping title of Brightest Witch of Her Age. So honest too, slapping Draco with blatant, genuine emotion that he was left to do little more than blink in the face of.

"Yes," he answered again.

"When did you…?"

Draco met her eyes, as if searching them would help him find his answer. His feelings for Hermione were never singular; never confined to a single instant. There was never a moment, stronger than all the others, that had explained everything to him all at once. It had been gradual, building inside of him slowly, insidiously. Hermione had taken hold of him piece by piece, until Draco had found himself without a heart and no idea when he had given it away to the bossy little girl.

"Sixth year."

It was the closest thing to an answer that Draco could give her. It was the closest he had come to having an answer himself. About midway through that year, Draco had finally put a label to the chaos inside him but, by that point, he had sunk so far down into the hole these  _ feelings  _ dug him into that he could barely find the strength to breathe, let alone claw his way out. All while still under the suffocating boot of the Death Eaters. It had nearly killed him.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. "That's why you…" She shook her head, ducking down in embarrassment. "The fighting with Ron." She let out a soft, unhappy laugh, gripping Draco tighter. "I can't believe you didn't snap at me sooner."

"I couldn't,” the blonde insisted, begging internally for her to understand. The thought of finally reaching his breaking point and coming forth with the truth, of all things… The thought of telling Hermione. the thought of  _ losing  _ Hermione...

"I know." The young woman shook her head, leaning back to look back up at him. "I wish you had, though." Draco let out a small, trembling breath. "I really wish you had." Hermione whispered again, eyes searching his.

He was so tempted to fall forwards, into Hermione's arms, his resolve was growing weaker by the second, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop himself if he gave in. The former Death Eater ducked down, burying his face into Hermione's neck. Her arms automatically wrapped around him. She was so comforting and she made it so easy. How  _ easy _ it would be to push forwards, to crawl on top of Hermione, to—

"I really want to kiss you again," Hermione's breath brushed against his ear, voice growing breathier by the second. Draco pulled back, eyes wide. "Just one more...please." 

It was as if Draco's veins lit on fire at the thought. as if he had been brought back to life with these mere knowledge that Hermione Granger wanted him at least partially in the way he wanted her. Draco's restraint crumbled and so did his body, falling forwards, into the witch’s arms and he had fallen to his desire before but he had never had Hermione to  _ catch _ him like this.

They kissed aggressively, passionately, for all of five seconds before she yanked back and nearly split her jaw with a whiskey scented yawn. Outside it was well past midnight for the rest of the world even if Draco felt like a sun was rising over just his room.

"You're falling asleep, aren't you, Granger?"

Hermione smiled. The use of her surname had lost its sting years ago and now it was almost comical. "Do you mind?"

"I don't mind," he assured softly. Hermione's fingers traced a path along his palm. "You should get under the covers."

"I should," she agreed drowsily. "And you should get under with me?" Draco swallowed, shuffling back a little,the peace he had felt a moment ago falling back in the face of a new wave of nerves, the sun dipping back behind it’s clouds. Hermione frowned. "Draco, I'm not going to freak out if I wake up next to you."

The blonde didn't reply; his mind was far too busy dancing on the edge of being desperate to believe Hermione's words and being far too afraid to even consider them. When he finally did, it was a brisk and effortless;

"You're an idiot." 

"And you’re a prat" Hermione pulled their hands up, the back of Draco's hand pressed against her cheek. Her eyes were closed at first, maybe savoring his warmth, but when they opened again she was suddenly looking far more awake. "You know I'd never want to lose you, right?"

Draco sucked in a breath.

"I might disappoint you." It was the understatement of the century and laughable dismissive in the million ways he had already disappointed her throughout their life. He’d known Hermione Granger nearly his entire life.

"I’m sure I’ll disappoint you." Hermione's eyes glittered with challenge. With intensity. "You hate my noble, Gryffindor ways." Draco let out a soft snort, but it ended up sounding like more of an exasperated breath. Her eyes settled into a sincere warmth that dragged him down to lay beside her. “We’ll be okay, Draco. I’ll prove it to you in the morning and every day after that. Alright?”

_ And every day after that _ .

The tightness in Draco's chest unfurled under the weight of Hermione's words.

“Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to be...so much longer, but I'm exhausted and bouncing off the walls to just get it FINISHED and it's probably obvious I ran out of steam there at the end. maybe I'll add chapters later on but for now...this is all I got. AND I HATE THE TITLE, MEH!


End file.
